SOBBING OVER SALTED MANGOS WITH TONYA HARDING
Ogling bare-chested Nigerians. Collecting humorous beer koozies.
Discovering a cask of worthless dab loons hidden inside the cave at Flopkins
wharf. Gallons of hard alcohol, a new suitcase pilfered from a Korean Air
turnstile each time our wardrobes or our spirits grew tired. It was easy
spending that summer with you. Unfolding large bills in tiny unwashed bathrooms,
using our eyes and our teeth to replenish silly tactile bits of life we
knew we could never afford. I bought you a silver watch and set the alarm
to 11:11pm, a time that we agreed was consistently superior to most other
times of day. Bugs swarmed our tent, we relented, and found great comfort
as alien ship bodies like whales swam above us. By September we realized
the rumbling in our bellies would need to be addressed. I started pickling
the earth elements around us and we put up a beautiful stock. You put dust
and feathers into your loom. I tore pages out of books, finding details
useless. We placed small deposits on custom dentures we wouldn't need for
ages, but felt better about the prospect of cliff diving and crusty bread.
Gypsies tempted us out of our clothes and out of the country. When I'd
settled some, I sent a car around to collect our things...only to find
I didn't have a car, or things. Some mix up I'm sure. I trust you'll have
it sorted out in the new year.
Forever after at http://eyeshot.net/saltedmangos.html